4 Turns | Dramione

12 | tightened thread

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t i g h t e n e d t h r e a d
Aug 18 1612 (Saturday)

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The truth hit him like a tsunami splashing on the shore. His grey eyes darted from the note on the floor to the sleeping witch who didn't have a hint of how overwhelmed by the surprise and guilt he was. A loose strand of brown curly hair fell to her face as she shifted languidly in her dream. Once he'd known the truth, he could no longer see her in the same way. Everything seemed implausible to him, he'd love to believe that he's over-analyzing, however, the word etched in her forearm had derived his certainty of the matter.

After Scourgifying himself and changing into his nightshirt, with his palm on his sweaty forehead, he sank into the couch and groaned inwardly as he rewound to the conversation they'd had in Hogsmeade. As of now, he could understand what she meant and why she'd emphasized that he wouldn't be able to help her. Her home was far, far away—it's about 400 years away; she wished to go home but didn't know how—she didn't know how to go back to their own timeline. This was the reason why she'd been reading tons of books about time-travel. The witch who's sharing the same room with him was just like him, she was trapped, and she didn't belong here. He should feel blessed to have met another time-traveller from his time despite the slim chance. It's more efficient to have two people solving the problem. However, why? Why she couldn't be others? Why she had to be Hermione Granger?

How should he face her when she's awake? Should he tell her that he's Draco Malfoy? No, he firmly told himself. Here was the chance Merlin had granted him to redeem himself from guilt. The chance would be ripped away once she learnt he's the man who'd made her life miserable for seven years, the man who'd refused to help when she's in a life-threatening situation because he's too selfish and coward to step forward to protect anyone. Draco wouldn't let go. He'd had enough of her haunting him in his sleep with her unnerving, miserable screams.

However, the downside was if she thought he's just another man from the past, she'd leave him one day to continue her research, to find her way back to the future on her own. The probability of meeting each other was too low if they separated again. If either of them came up with a method to go home, the other would still be stuck until they found the solution by themselves. He knew that sticking together was the best option for them both, but how? How to make her stay without telling her his real identity?

Mirth was shown on his face as an idea drove into his head. Opening his leather suitcase beside the door, he grabbed the magic books out and without checking the titles, he randomly selected one to read. He just needed to put on an act around her.

Finally, Hermione's eye had fluttered open after a long nap before she slowly switched into a sitting position. Placing his book on the table graciously, he approached her with another glass of water which had become empty in mere seconds. Draco shifted her pillow to lean against the wooden headboard before giving a push in her shoulder, leading her to rest her back against the soft, puffy material.

He sat on the edge of the bed and observed her. Uncertainty and disquiet were shown in her wavering eyes. When his hand slithered onto the back of her hand, her shoulders stiffened but she didn't reject him. Her hands were still cold, even though she'd been wrapped around by a cloak and a blanket for hours. His determined, concerned eyes pierced into the wall she'd built up around her. He finally spoke.

"Hello?" he greeted quietly.

"Hi," she whispered in a voice that's barely louder than a breath.

"I'll get you some food, okay?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Draco let go of her hand and left the room. When he was back to the room with two bowls of corn potage soup and some bread from the kitchen, the witch had her face buried in her knees which were covered by the blanket. He could hear her muffled sniffs and the occasional hiccups—she finally broke down. Placing the tray of food carefully on the bedside table, he sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, before he laid his hand on the small of her back. The sniffs turned into sobs once his hand started rubbing and patting her bare back. They didn't scare him away. He perceived she needed a good cry to release her over-flooded grief and stress. Although she didn't tell him what'd happened to her in the castle, he had guessed most parts of it by the state of her clothing and her wound when he'd found her. She'd gone through the humiliating inspection of witches' mark.